


Fire and Stars

by sleeping_ranna



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 00:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18434942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeping_ranna/pseuds/sleeping_ranna
Summary: A rather self-indulgent look at a foolish Oronir's obsession with true love, and the Mol that readjusts his view of the world around him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote a couple ficlets back on dumblr a year ago, and never continued the series. Until now. Maybe. hopefully.  
> I'll post the original four ficlets, and maybe I'll add more? I wanna add more. I hope I do.

“You have brought honor to the Mol, granddaughter.” Temulun greeted the returning victors. Victory to the Mol, the thought took Cirina’s breath away, even now. Dismounting from her yol, Cirina smiled softly up at the fearsome bird. Its black eye fixed on her, before giving a shrill cry and rising to the air. Its duty done, it left for its roost until summoned for battle once more.

“It was thanks to our champions, grandmother.” She said. Temulun smiled. “Ah, but who cared for our champion? Who led the Warriors from the West, to gather under our banner? You are more than what you credit yourself with, child.” Temulun pointed out. 

Cirina found she couldn’t protest that. Her grandmother, with the stars to guide her, had always been able offer wisdom that bolstered Cirina’s confidence. Cirina only hoped that someday, she might lead the Mol with the same wisdom as Temulun.

“Are we to leave for the Dawn Throne soon, child?” Temulun asked, guiding Cirina back into the central yurt.

“Ah, no. I have no desire to see the Mol leave Mol Illoh. The Khan agreed with me; the Oronir shan’t be cast out. They will remain at the Dawn Throne.” He would remain at the Dawn Throne.

Cirina had never seen the former Khan of the Oronir before the Nadaam. In the midst of combat he’d stormed in, clad in dark gray fur and his massive axe wielded in his hands. Men fell before him, unable to withstand his might. Tempered by the Mettle, he was as true a warrior as Cirina had ever seen.

“The stars in your eyes are clouded, granddaughter.” Temulun said. A small smile curled the old woman’s wrinkled lips. Drawn from her reverie, Cirina smiled and brushed one pink braid from her face. “Forgive me, grandmother. I was meditating on the events of the Nadaam.” 

Temulun nodded. “A feast is being prepared for your victory. Go and sit under the sun, child. Meditate and learn from today.” She bade. Cirina nodded. She hadn’t even sat by the fire, so lost in thought she’d been. She would do as Temulun asked, and returned outside.

The sun was beginning to set now, its fading rays painting the western horizon red with the blood of warriors bested today. And with the thought of warriors, he returned to her mind. With Lord Hien and the Warrior of Light at her side, they had claimed the Nadaam and confronted Magnai for right to the Dawn Throne. And Cirina had again felt intimidated just by the man’s presence. His hair was like the sparks of campfire in the night, his eyes seemed to burn with the fire of his spirit.

And then he’d turned those golden eyes on her. Demanded she look at him, see if she saw Azim. The tone of his voice had shaken her to the core more than taming the yol had. The scales of his jaw had been like midnight, his horns were spears to defend his pride. 

What had he meant by asking if she saw Azim? Azim was the sun - giving warmth and daylight. Magnai was… a bonfire, a blazing torch to guide you in the darkness. A wildfire racing across the Sea of Blades. 

He’d looked so frustrated after speaking to her. Cirina twirled one braid in her fingers as she thought on it. 

“Cirina, it’s time to give thanks.” Temulun called from the entrance to the yurt. Cirina rose to her feet, casting off her thoughts with a smile. 

“Of course, grandmother.” She said, entering inside. Dzo was roasting over the pit, and Cirina found herself wishing she could give the prayer before that man that was fire incarnate.


	2. Chapter 2

_“Look into my eyes, girl. Do you see Azim?!”_

__

__

_“I don’t know what you mean…”_

Disgraced as a warrior, and still his Nhaama had not appeared for him. Magnai sat on the Dawn throne, eyes smoldering with irritation. But the Mol girl lingered on his mind, her image burned into his memory like a cold brand.

It dawned on him that he had noticed her during the Nadaam. His attention had been more focused on the Doman blade wielder, and the warrior from the West. Outsiders. Bested by one who lacked Nhaama’s blessings. 

His hand turned to a fist, gripping the arm of the throne. It was the only thingtthough one of the spearsons had returned to the Dawn Throne with a red feathered arrow in his thigh. 

A keen eye. She possessed a keen eye, of the most fine sheen of gray. Like starlight. Her eyes didn’t hold the weight of the moon, but as she had jested with the new khan and their comrades, her eyes had been lit like stars. 

Foolish was he to think a daughter of sheep was his Nhaama. Only a woman with the strength to withstand the sun’s radiance could be his destined.

But that arrow. That red feathered arrow, dyed in Mol colors. She wasn’t a mere sheep - Bardam had tested her, declared her a true daughter of the Steppe. He couldn’t deny her that truth. 

And her skin had been fair, like clouds at sunrise, pink and gentle. Her voice had been soft like the whisper of a stream. And her scales were like pitch, the color a moonless night. And eyes full of stars.

This was irritating. Extremely irritating.

“You.” Magnai snapped at the Buduga waiting in the room. There was always one around. They practically worshipped Magnai as Azim himself, and well they should. The man snapped to attention.

“Yes brother Magnai?”

“Go to Mol Illoh. Bring their bow daughter with pink braids here.” He would settle this matter once and for all. Eyes full of stars did not make one the moon.


	3. Chapter 3

The sheep were grazing quietly, and inside the main yurt Cirina was weaving. The image in her mind’s eye was a massive tapestry, depicting the arrival of the warriors from the west, the test of their mettle, the descent of yols, and then the massive Nadaam and the victory of the mol. It would take moons, if not full turns of the seasons to complete. But it would be a masterpiece, an heirloom to be treasured by the tribe. 

Of course. *He* would be in that tapestry. She even knew what threads she wanted to depict the glow of his axe, the wild lengths of hair.

The kudzu threads would be spun and dyed with dedication, and then woven patiently, guided by Cirina’s knowing fingers. So long as she held to the image in her eye, this work would not fail-

“The Buduga are approaching!”

Cirina dropped her loom, startled by the cry of alarum by the shepherd outside gave. Her shortbow sat on a stand by the tent flap - rising to her feet, the loom was abandoned in favor of her bow and quiver. From the dark firelight of the yurt to the brilliance of midday she came, armed and steeling herself for war.

Sure enough, Cirina could spy a figure clad in dark green. He wasn’t on a yol, like Cirina had feared, but on horseback. Around her, the tribe was grabbing weapons, fearing the worst. And yet, Cirina noted the rider was alone, and no war birds could be seen on the skyline. 

“Stay your hands,” Cirina called. “I don’t believe he means ill.” She said. The other Mol looked warily at her, then at the approaching figure, then back at her. The spearmen took more at ease poses, but were all ready to spring to the defense of the Steppe warrior.

The wind blew to try and undo Cirina’s braids. Her braids tapped against her horns as she slung her bow across her back and strode out to meet the Buduga. To her left, the sheep baa’d nervously.

“I come not for war!” The Xaela called as he rode into shouting distance. Well, that was comforting.

“Peace, and the blessings of the stars to you, traveller. What brings you to Mol Iloh?” Cirina asked as the rider reigned in his horse from his gallop. The horse snorted, breathing heavily as the man looked at Cirina. Scrutinizing.

“Magnai Oronir has summoned you, bow daughter of the Mol.” The Buduga said. Snidely, she might add.

“Wh-what?” Cirina gasped. The spearmen in earshot drew their lances. The Buduga glared at the Mol warriors.

“I don’t know. He only said to bring the bow daughter from the Nadaam to Azim Khaa.” He explained. Cirina felt her pink cheeks turning red.

She was to face Magnai again? Have those fiery eyes look upon her with such expectation? She couldn’t possibly-

“You must go.” 

Cirina whirled around to face Temulun. Her grandmother had come with the alert of the opposing tribe’s approach, but her face was lit with a serene smile.

“Khatun, what do you mean. The tribe-”

“Will be fine.” Temulun held up a hand. “The stars spoke of a meeting. An important chance to pave the way for the future of the Mol. For you, granddaughter.” Temulun spoke, her aged voice like rough sand as she gave her decree.

“Go Cirina. And may your stars shine brightly in the night.” Temulun said, grasping Cirina’s hands and squeezing. The younger woman’s heart raced, excited and frightened. Mostly frightened.

“You have a yol. Call it. I did not bring a horse for you, and you will not ride with me.” The Buduga ordered. Cirna swallowed thickly before wetting her lips and whistling shrilly. The sound echoed across the plains, up into the cliffs above Mol Iloh, where a cry answered the whistle. Cirina’s yol came minutes later, heavy wings casting a dark shadow that frightened the sheep herds as it descended. 

“Make for Azim Khaa, bowdaughter. Brother Magnai waits for you.”


	4. Chapter 4

Magnai’s fingers rapped against the stone of the Dawn Throne irritably. A speardaughter who’d come to announce that the evening meal was prepared, quickly retreated under her most radiant brother’s withering glare.

He was not in a good mood. There was a curious twisting in his chest that made him crave to take up his axe and hunt mammoth. He needed an outlet for this energy. 

With a huff, he pushed up from the throne and strode out to Azim Khaa. Sunset was approaching, the western skies painted pink and orange while stars in the east began to twinkle softly. Night was falling, and there was no sign of the Mol bowdaughter. 

Why had he sent one of the Buduga? Perhaps he should have sent an Oroniri outrider. But then he would have to face their curious gaze and that itched worse than sand under his scales.

The yol was the color of dusk, the residents of Azim Khaa didn’t realize they had a guest from the east until the beat of its great wings frightened the sheep. The prey animals screamed and baa’d and their shepherd did his best to try and calm them. 

As interesting as a light snack of fresh lamb was to the yol, the rider on its back kept it in line. A waif of a woman, garbed in red and black, with pink braids and eyes that matched the darkening eastern skies. Magnai felt some of that twisting in his chest ease, but only for his heart to pound uncomfortable. 

Long strides brought him across the plaza to tower over the woman as she bade her yol to depart. She looked alarmed, turning to get a faceful of grey leather. “Oh, forgive me.” She gasped.

Magnai’s tail curled as he frowned down at her. Her eyes were like a grey dusk, set against the pink of a sunset. Absolutely not the moon. Not his Nhaama. Ridiculous.

“You are in time for the evening meal. Come.” It wasn’t a request. He turned on his heel and walked towards where the Oroniri cook was spooning out dzo stew. “Brother Magnai.” The man said, handing him a bowl. Magnai snorted. That man was pathetic - only wanting to cook and not fight. Weak.

Curiously, the Mol archer was right behind him. He heard her offer thanks warmly to the cook. Worse, the man sounded pleased by her words. Why give a pathetic man like that praise when he was right there?

“Follow me.” Magnai groused, walking back towards the Dawn Throne. He didn’t bother looking back; of course she was following him. Once inside, the sound of another pair of boots finding the floor only validated him.

Resuming his place on the Dawn Throne, Magnai began eating. The food… was good. As it should be, only the best for the Khaan of the Oronir. His eyes were focused on the visiting woman. She was seated on the stone, robe tucked under her legs to protect her from cold stone. 

He found himself wishing she would look up at him, gaze on his radiance. Instead she was focused on the bowl of food in her hands. How was that possibly better than him?

The soft clink of the bowl being set down broke his focus, and those grey eyes were finally, finally looking up at him. Her brow furrowed, the Mol finally found her voice, and it was more musical than he remembered -

“Why did you summon me here?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wew! I finally got a chapter up! This is a fair bit longer than the first four chapters, and I hope each subsequent chapter will be longer. But bear with me, I'm flying by the seat of my pants and I have no idea where this fic is going. But it's sure going somewhere!
> 
> Make sure to check me out on twitter under @sleepingranna

Why did he summon her here? The brazen question found Magnai wholly unprepared. His jaw slackened, only to set tightly with an indignant breath.

“The sun is curious how a little sheep came to be at the Nadaam.” Magnai finally answered.

The Mol girl blinked, her lips parting. The sheer sweetness of her look made Magnai uncomfortably warm, and he directed his focus to his stone axe while he waits for her to speak.

“The Gods willed it.” The answer was soft, like the bubbling stream below Azim Khaa. Magnai looked back to where the Mol girl sat neatly on the pelt rug that adorned the floor. 

“There must always be a tried and true warrior for the Mol - the Gods demanded it years ago. When our last warrior could no longer wield his spear, the khatun looked to the heavens, and saw me stepping into Bardam’s Mettle.” She explained. She was twining one pink braid round a finger, much like a child would.

“I see now that the Gods were preparing me for this Nadaam. For Hien, and the warriors from the West.” She spoke with such piety and reverence that Magnai felt his heart moved by her words. Just as swiftly, ire built in his breast and brought bile to his tongue.

“You would have failed if not for them.” He said sourly.

The Mol girl frowned. Her eyes were like the glitter of a star between storm clouds.

“Even sheep might gouge a larger predator with its horns.” She retorted. She pushed to her feet, glaring defiantly. Her eyes met his without fear or hesitation, and Magnai was unnerved by the mettle of her look.

“My brothers and sisters all fought aside them. Held your own tribe, and the Dotharl, and the Buduga, and the Kha, and all the others! at bay. Bled and held them off so that the Warrior of Light might claim the ovoo for us.

And lest you forget, they are tried by Bardam as well. And stood for the Mol that day. _A sheep_ bested you, lest you forget.” She said. Even in anger, her voice was soft. But it was cold like a night without a moon.

The fierceness of her words made his chest twist. He felt like he was teetering on the edge of Azim Khaa, a small boy about to fall to icy depths to prove his bravery. At the bottom of the fall was glory and something terrifying, a new experience he wasn’t sure he was ready to know.

But right now, Magnai had never seen a more beautiful woman in all his life than this little sheep before him. And he was incredibly upset about this.

“If your horns and your mettle are so fearsome, little sheep, then I’m sure you can withstand the full might of the sun?” He declared, his voice booming off of unforgiving stone.

That certainly seemed to catch the Mol girl’s attention. Her bout of bravery had evaporated under the sun’s fierceness.

An unforgiving smirk curled his lips.

“That’s what I thought. A sheep will melt under the full radiance of the sun.” He gloated. “Do not fear, little one. The sun will not harm you.” He assured.

The Mol girl looked away, seeming to ponder his words.Magnai thought perhaps she saw the wisdom he spoke with.

“Is that all?” She asked, turning to look back at him.

_Huh._

“I mean no disrespect.” She added hurriedly. “If you desired to know more of the Mol and our warriors, you might have come to Mol Illoh and learned for yourself.” She suggested. The shyness she spoke with hinted at her nervousness. “There was no need to send one of the Buduga halfway across the Steppe to summon me. You’re welcome at Mol Illoh at any time, Brother Magnai.” She said smiling. 

Her smile was soft and warm. A breeze on a hot summer day. There was that curious twisting in his chest again.

“I am needed back at Mol Illoh. I hope we might see you on the horizon of Mol Illoh someday.” She said, bowing. He lifted his hand to protest, to stop her from leaving, but she was already turning and striding from his throne room.

Magnai sat slacked jawed on his throne, wondering how, in Azim’s name, had this happened. 

Go to Mol Illoh? Was she insane?

Daidukul, two minutes after the Mol girl left, entered the room.

“Most radiant brother Magnai, you look ill. Was the evening meal bad? I’ll go chastise Esugen, he should know better by now-” The muscular Buduga began to turn, ready to berate the Oronir cook when Magnai reached out to him.

“No… it’s not the food. It was merely the company.” Magnai explained. Daidukul folded his arms over his bare chest, quirking an eyebrow.  
“The little sheep girl from the north? Aye. I don’t understand why you summoned her, brother. There’s far better company you can keep.” He said. Magnai felt his lips twitch, deepening his scowl. Perhaps Daidukul was right. The Buduga himself was generally pleasant enough to keep around, and any of the Oroniri sisters were finer warriors than the little Mol, despite none truly being his Nhaama.

But her words echoed in his head, till they gained enough momentum they threatened to sunder his horns.

“-uga would be happy to help!” Hmm? Oh, Daidukul had kept talking while he thought.

“Has the Mol bowdaughter left the Dawn Throne?” Magnai asked in a surly voice. Daidukul looked to him and nodded.

“Aye, saw her fly off on her yol before I came in. It still surprises me that little meek thing managed to tame one.” Daidukul said, frowning.

“Brother Magnai, you look like a storm cloud looms over you.” He mused. 

A gauntleted finger tapped against Magnai’s temple. His bright yellow eyes closed, thinking hard.

“Storm clouds flee in the presence of the sun.” He snapped.

… And so did sheep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wew! Here we are, chapter 6. And as promised, much much longer! And from Cirina's POV. Because I derped and wrote Magnai's POV twice in a row. As always, please leave reviews and kudos. 
> 
> Feel free to @ me on twitter under @sleepingranna. Drop me some fic requests, yell at me, or just come chill. Thanks for reading!

What, in Nhaama’s name, was she thinking? Inviting _Magnai_? To _Mol Illoh_? What kind of fool’s errand had she suggested?

Cirina whistled and there was an answering cry from above the Dawn Throne. Her yol came from a roost on high, the beat of its wings blowing away dead grass and her bangs from her eyes. An Oroniri bladedaughter was grumbling somewhere, but Cirina couldn’t hear it over the heavy sound of flapping wings.

She mounted her yol hurriedly, apprehensively expecting the Oronir khan to arrive behind her and insist she stay to answer more of his questions.

So why… as she flew back north… did her stomach twist so painfully? Shouldn’t she be relieved that the scenario she’d imagined didn’t come to pass? That she’d been able to escape the Dawn Throne unaccosted?

The air was cold. The sun had left the sky long ago, and Cirina told herself this was why she pressed herself closer to her yol as she flew. It was the cold. Not this heavy disappointment, weighing her down and trying to make her turn back south.

What even would Magnai do if he was to come to Mol Illoh? None among them were as fierce as the Oronir. Much of the Mol diet was gathered roots and food cultivated from their herds. They did not hunt much. Their pastimes were weaving and stargazing. A man like Magnai, with all his pride, all his strength… He had no place in Mol Illoh, just as Cirina had no place at the Dawn Throne. 

The strength of the wind brought tears to Cirin’s eyes, even protected against the neck of the yol. It whipped and cut through the warmth of her coat, air rushing past her horns.

Where the stars turned to blackness, Cirina saw the twinkling of a bonfire. The beacon to guide her home, where sheep grazed and the sun’s watchful eye hung far in the west. Her fingers twined in feathers, directing the yol downwards, towards that fire. The bird gave no cry, no answer but to simply lower its wings, gliding gently down into the tall grass so she could dismount. 

The yol gave her a blank look from its eye, evaluating its master. Even a sheep could accomplish incredible things. A sheep might turns its horns upwards towards the sky, and bring its natural predator low so it might walk on its back. The yol beat its wings, flying back up to the cliffs.

Cirina was alone in the darkness, the settlement bonfire her beacon through the black. Her feet marched surely through the tall grass - she had lived here her whole life. She would not trip. 

Caragai was there, speaking with one of the children. As her form was illuminated by the fire, he waved to her.

“Welcome back, Cirina. What happened at the Dawn Throne?” He asked. One finger came to twirl a braid while she hunted for words.

“He was curious why I was present at the Nhadaam.” Caragai scoffed, folding his arms over his chest. 

“That’s it? You’re the head warrior for the Mol. The least among us wouldn’t have gone if not for you.” He said fiercely. The firelight seemed to flicker off Caragai’s eyes, making them burn a brilliant scarlet. His tone brought a smile to Cirina’s face and she nodded. 

“I’m glad the gods saw you safely home, Cirina. There’s still some buuz left from the evening meal if you’re hungry.” Caragai said, gesturing to the fire where three Mol children sat, chattering under the supervision of Caragai.

“Oh, ah, no. I shared the Oronir’s supper tonight. But I appreciate it.” She said warmly. Caragai was taken aback by her statement.

“Truly? They broke their fast with you?” He asked. Cirina nodded.

“The gods were right that this was a momentous night.” Cirina couldn’t find it in her to agree with any enthusiasm. She hadn’t done anything. Except lecture the khan of the Oronir and then flee when he challenged her to a duel.

...And invite him to Mol Illoh. But that invitation would never be accepted, and she wouldn’t concern herself with the possibility. The rest of the tribe certainly didn’t need the stress. Seeing a yol on the horizon, bearing a battle hungry Oronir would not improve the Mol quality of life.

“-ina. Cirina are you listening to me?” Blink. Blink. Caragai was waving his hand in front of Cirina’s face, bringing her gray eyes to focus.

“I’m sorry, Caragai. I’m tired.” She said. Caragai smiled softly. 

“Of course. You traveled to the Dawn Throne and back. Go inside the yurt and get some rest. And you should also be asleep, little ones!” He called to the children. Their groans of dismay brought a smile to Cirina’s face as she entered the yurt. Her bedroll was waiting, and Cirina collapsed into it with a huff.

Her sleep was dreamless, and as dawn brightened the sky, Cirina’s eyes opened snapped open. Not one to tarry in bed, she quickly rose and kicked the cover of her bed roll back into place.  
Outside, the air was cold and the sky was turning from black to blue in the east, beyond the river gorge. Cirina’s breath misted past parted lips as she walked up to the firekeeper, who was stirring a pot. The other woman smiled, and the scent of sheep milk and meat wafted up to Cirina in a tantalizing aroma.

“Good morning. Sleep well?” The firekeeper asked. Stretching her shoulders, Cirina let out a sigh.

“Mmm. Yes. Anything happen during the night?” She asked. Shaking her head in reply, the firekeeper ladled a wooden bowl full of stew and offered the steaming dish up to her.

 

“Nay. All was quiet.” Well, that was good. Cirina’s gaze turned southwest as she took a seat by the fire. The sky was dark, but slowly lightening in color. She strained her eyes, to see if she could spy a yol on the horizon. Anticipation and disappointment made her breakfast taste bitter, and Cirina frowned down into the stew.

Why was she disappointed? Because she’d invited him here and he wasn’t coming? She had no love of the Oronir khan, and no desire to be humiliated in combat. So why…

Cirina quickly slurped her meal down, not willing to let herself mull on this matter any longer than she had. Her bowl was handed back to the firekeeper, and she stood back, surveying Mol Illoh. The day was young, the sun beginning to finally warm the dewy grass. 

There were sheep to milk, fleece to be spun, arrowheads to gather. No shortage of work to keep her busy.

The sheep were all corralled off to the west of the current Mol settlement, and pails were stacked and waiting. Collecting one for herself, she sat down and beckoned one sheep over, beginning to work. Once the sun was high on the eastern horizon, morning was in full swing and the children came shuffling from yurts, rubbing their eyes. Cirina smiled, and had them carry the milk pails over to be bottled and fermented.

The late morning was spent traversing the Sea of Blades, gathering stones sharp enough to be used for arrows. Still, still Cirina’s head turned to the southwest, to that massive dome that marred the western horizon.

Stop that. He’s not coming. You don’t want him here. She chided herself. Firmly, she turned and marched back to Mol Illoh, her bag full of arrowheads.

And with the morning work done, Cirina turned to her weaving. The shepherds had just finished shearing the sheep and there was plenty of fleece to be spun. Several other women joined Cirina out on a blanket.

“So you went to the Dawn Throne again, Cirina? What was it like?” Cotan asked. Cirina hummed as she worked her loom.

“It’s big. And there’s grass at the top. And a huge house of stone, and lanterns lit everywhere.” She says.

“And the khan of the Oronir truly summoned you there last night?” She asked, leaning in. Cirina suddenly felt defensive, frowning at her pile of fleece.

“... Yes?” She said, her tail thumping the ground.

“I heard in Reunion that he’s obsessed with true love, but none of the Oroniri women will have him.” Cotan giggled. Cirina raised her eyebrow.

“Truly?” She asked, her hands moving with spinning. Cotan nodded. 

“He has all these ideas about his Nhaama, and how a woman should be. And so all the women find him insufferable to be around. But no one among them can beat him in a fight. So he remains the khan.” She said. Caur nodded in agreement.

“His brothers of the tribe have appealed to the women of other tribes, that Magnai might find his beloved. But all the women listen to him and just leave after he speaks.” She added. 

Cirina felt kind of dirty for listening to her tribe sisters speak so poorly of Magnai. But she did not often travel to Reunion, and her own experiences…

“It’s such a shame he’s like that. I’ve heard he’s really handsome. Is that also true, Cirina? Is the Oronir khan handsome?” Cotan asked, leaning over her loom.

The question brought heat to Cirina’s face. 

“Eh? Handsome?” She answered. The embarrassed look to her face had Cotan and Caur leaning in with delighted smiles.

“You’re blushing, Cirina. You haven’t blushed like that since you met the Doman lord.” Cotan teased. 

“Oh, now he was truly handsome.” Caur sighed. “His shoulders were as broad as an Adarkim’s.” She said wistfully. Cotan prodded Caur with her elbow grinning. 

“Such a shame Cirina kept him all to herself.” Cotan said slyly. Cirina’s whole body was burning now.

“S-stop it! I never, I didn’t-” She prosted, dropping her loom. Cotan and Caur burst into more giggles.

“Oh we know, Cirina. You haven’t had the nerve to approach a man since Bujeg.” Caur said. Cotan shook her head.

“Truly, what were the gods thinking? Were they even thinking, or is Bujeg insane? Rebuff you? The khatun’s granddaughter?” Cotan sighed. Cirina’s teeth worried her lip. Waving her hand, Cotan dismissed the topic.

“Enough of that. We still need to hear of Magnai Oronir. Tell us, Cirina! Is he handsome?” She asked. 

“Yes, tell us!” Caur parroted. This interrogation had Cirina wanting to call her yol down to whisk her away to a hiding place.

“I… suppose he’s handsome?” She suggested. The other two women pouted. 

“Ehh? What kind of answer is that?” Caur asked, tilting her head.

“W-well, he’s very tall. And he doesn’t dress like the other Oronir. His robes are dark gray, and he wields an axe of stone-”

“Truly? Carved out of stone? What manner of man wields such a weapon?” Caur gasped. 

“A beast, surely. Tis a good thing the Oronir want nothing to do with us.” Cotan said sagely, nodding. 

Cirina swallowed, trying to focus on her loom. There was still much fleece to spin. She didn’t want to think about what manner of man wields an axe of stone. Her hands moved fluidly, Cirina no longer able to pay attention to the simple task. 

Men with heavily muscled arms wielded weapons of stone. Men with thick waists, strong as a mammoth, wielded weapons of stone. Men with brilliant golden eyes…

“Why do you keep looking to the west, Cirina? What’s so interesting out there?” Caur asked, twisting to look behind.

“Mm? Oh, I wasn’t really looking at anything.” She said. Caur and Cotan gave each other a look, and then continued to chatter. 

The day stretched on, the womens’ work carrying on until the sun fell from the sky. Cirina eschewed the evening meal, not craving more gossip.  
The second day proceeded as much the first, Cirina going about simple tasks, eyeing the western skies. Today, though she was thankfully spared Caur and Cotan’s gossip - the latter having departed for Reunion with the spun yarn from yesterday’s work. Caur was similarly gone, having taken one of the flocks out to graze. And Caragai was communing with the gods. Cirina was almost blissfully alone.

At sundown Cirina was still gazing to the west, before she realized what she was doing. This was ridiculous. Enough. There was no point in foolishly hoping for the impossible to pass. She needed to focus her gaze heavensward, live her life by the gods’ will. They would guide her path - and it would not lead her across the Steppe.

Sun set once more, and rose as always. This day was warm, and many of the Mol shed their heavy robes to let their scales bask in the sun’s warmth. 

Soft trousers and a leather bandeau wrapped ‘round her bust was all that Cirina wore today. She knelt in the grass, humming softly as she milked a sheep. It was such a beautiful day, perhaps she would journey south and swim in the river, she mused. Caragai had spoken with one of the spearbrothers - there were no gedan sightings near the river today, so even the children could go. 

Wiping her hands on her pants, Cirina pushed to her feet. She had two pails of milk that needed to go to the yurt of food stuffs. Grabbing each in a hand, she stood up with a small ‘hup!’. 

Her tail swayed as she walked back into the settlement, smiling to herself. Cotan would be back from Reunion tomorrow, and she’d promised to buy some dyes for Cirina’s weaving. She was pouring the milk into jugs when a cry of alarm was given. The milk was dropped, Cirina running out. 

“Yol on the western horizon!” One of the Mol watchers cried from his perch. 

_What?!_

Who? It couldn’t be… Surely, perhaps a Dotharl? Or an ambitious Gesi, one of the Adarkim, a Buduga wanting a boy…

Cirina rushed into the main yurt, grabbing her bow and quiver. Whoever it was, they had to be ready. Weak as they were, a single Mettle-proven warrior would be a dangerous threat to the tribe. 

Caragai was with her, and three other warriors while the children were gathered in the main yurt. Cirina swallowed thickly. Her heart raced, adrenaline and anticipation. Surely, he wouldn’t have accepted…

The yol was alone, but Cirina’s keen eyes could discern a rider between its wings. Her jaw dropped when she discerned a great axe strapped to the rider’s back.

“No…” She breathed, bringing a look of alarm to Caragai’s face. “Warriors, ready your weapons!” He ordered the other Mol. Trepidation was plain in their faces.

The yol descended swiftly, just beyond the barricades set around Mol Illoh. Cirina could see the rider clearly now. Her whole body burned, her heart racing till it threatened to crack her ribs with the force of its beating. The hair like fire, the golden eyes, the dark robe, the axe of stone…

“I am Magnai Oronir. The sun has come at the invitation of your own.”


End file.
